


Tumblr Drabbles

by ko_drabbles



Category: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Drabble Collection, Hospitalization, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:01:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23520481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ko_drabbles/pseuds/ko_drabbles
Summary: All drabbles I write for my blog, hostclubtotallysaidthis!
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	1. Not Okay (Suicide TW)

**Author's Note:**

> Anon asked: 🕯- A sad memory they would rather forget, for Kyoya

Kyoya stood, staring at the wooden door with wide eyes. He didn't know if he should go in, even though he wanted to. His mother was sick and needed rest, she'd lost a lot of blood and stopped breathing. Her brunette hair was messy and greasy, and dark bags lay beneath the eyes that were so much like his.

They were always compared, looks-wise. He was a tiny version of his mother, one of the reasons why she let him keep his hair at shoulder length. He was as pretty as a little girl, as pretty as her, and it made the two of them feel... closer. Even if he went weeks without seeing her, he could just look in the mirror and see the parts of her he was given.

She always seemed to need her rest, but he had to see her now. He came so close to... She almost died, and he wouldn't have said goodbye. He wouldn't be able to hug her, kiss her cheek, and listen to her sing. It felt almost selfish to think of it in those terms, but he loved her so much and he couldn't bear to think of the hole she'd leave in his heart.

Taking hold of his resolve, he pulled open the door and stepped inside the clinical, sterile room. He knew hospital rooms had to be clean, but the smell of antiseptic and iodine was pungent, and paired with something disgustingly stale. It didn't suit her. She loved flowers, and the best perfumes, and silk sheets and... and...

"Baby boy."

Her face and voice were both warm and cotton soft when he finally let his gaze lay on her, sitting up in that awfully uncomfortable bed, but he wasn't fooled into thinking she was alright. Bandages lay thickly around her forearms, and she definitely had stitches. Her eyes were puffy, raw and red, bloodshot from the tears she must have cried when she awoke. His father had explained to him, after all, in more detail than an eight-year-old should know.

She wanted to die and was disappointed she was saved. It hurt. A searing pain wrapped around his heart when he thought about it, that none of them could convince her to stay.

Fighting his own tears, he rushed forward and climbed onto the bed, trying to be careful of the various IVs and wires attached to her slim frame. She didn’t push him away, didn’t tell him that he shouldn’t, simply cradled the back of his head and wove her fingers between the soft, black strands, kisses carefully pressed into his hair.

“It’s okay, baby boy,” She cooed, so sure that she could convince him of that. But she couldn’t, because he knew. He knew since he first saw her bleeding out on the bathroom floor.

She wasn’t okay.


	2. Home Follows (Suicide TW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon asked: 🌃- A time they got to admire the beauty of a city, for Kyoya

The suite was painfully impressive, even to a sheltered young boy raised in a mansion his whole life. Several rooms decorated in such a lush and overtly gaudy fashion which honestly disgusted his own sensibilities; a room doesn't need to be gold-gilded to show it was luxurious. He was a much bigger fan of the usual minimalism - monochromatic and glass surfaces gleaming in warm lamplight.

Still, he supposed he'd keep his mouth shut, considering the most likely outrageous cost and the fact that his father was nice enough to bring his youngest with him, opposed to his older brothers. It should be treated as an honour, even if it was simply because the other three children were too busy with their studies.

"Not that he asked me," Fuyumi had grumbled, but didn't elaborate further. She just stuck her nose back in her biology textbook, as if she hadn't uttered a single syllable.

Despite his dislike of the décor, what drew his eye was the view.

Panoramic windows lined the room, the night scenery laying beyond, and Kyoya had never seen Tokyo that beautiful. There were no stars, thanks to the light pollution, but thousands of lights were dotted around the city. Even if loud, bright, obnoxious advertisements made themselves known without a hint of apology, it was somehow captivating. Perhaps it was his lack of familiarity with cityscapes - let alone one like this - due to the Ootori estate having acres of land, but it was so absolutely breath-taking.

All he seemed to be able to do was walk over to the window in a daze, taking in every detail that became clearer the closer he came. His fingertips brushed the cool glass, his breath fogging an almost perfect, white-hued circle; it made the city beyond look even more dreamlike.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" His father finally chimed in, depositing their suitcases by the sofa for the moment, "I hate the room, but this makes it all worth the tackiness of it all. Don't you agree?"

He nodded, not knowing quite what to say, and reached for the window latch, feeling the need for a little fresh air. However, it opened maybe an inch, and was stuck. He tried to force it, but his father merely took a breath.

"There's no point in trying, Kyoya," He stated, "They don't open any further. With wealth like this comes much stress and pressure, and there have been... incidents."

"Like with mum?" He replied without thinking, almost instant, and regretted it as soon as those poorly chosen words left his tongue. His father took a deep breath, and he could see his reflection in the glass, racking a hand through his hair.

“Kyoya, do you know why I took you out here?” He inquired, “I wanted you to… Get away from that for a little while. It’s not good for you.”

He didn’t argue with that. In fact, after their “conversation”, Kyoya didn’t say another word all evening, bombarded by thoughts one certainly shouldn’t utter aloud.

_It’s certainly high enough. If I jumped from here, I doubt I’d ever get up again…_


	3. Legacy (Suicide TW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon asked: 🥀- A memory about death and grief, for Kyoya

Here he was, soon to disappear and leave behind... What?

Kyoya groaned, all but slamming the bottle of pills on the bathroom counter for what had to be the fifth time that hour, at least. His head couldn't shut up about killing himself, but of course he couldn't do it peacefully and with dignity. That'd be far too much to ask for Kyoya Ootori!

It certainly wasn't the first time his consideration to end it all took him to the bathroom, but it was the first time he held the sedatives in his hand, summoning the will to swallow them all. They weren't a painless death - far from - but it was convenient. Slitting wrists and throats had to have a certain precision his shaking hands wouldn't be able to muster, drowning tended to have a low success rate, as self-preservation kicks in. With pills, he could swallow them down, and then go take a nap.

While unpleasant to think about, if he aspirated his own vomit, it would at least be quick, as long as he wasn't found.

But no, all of those perfectly reasonable things weren't what were making him hesitant. He'd like to act like the weeping martyr, say how he didn't want to hurt his family, and turn away. Not to get help, of course, because if you truly were the golden-hearted sob story, then your issues would dissolve into thin air and you'd just be happy again.

No, he's hesitant for fully selfish reasons.

Legacy is such an important thing, and what has he accomplished in his thirteen years of yearning? Nothing of note. He doesn't have friends, he's a good student but thoroughly average for an Ootori, no extra curriculars or talents that would make others think "Oh, he's that kid!"

Will the servants set a place for him at the table, before removing the cutlery and continuing their day a little more melancholic? Will his brothers miss him? Will Fuyumi cry over him? Will his father soldier through with his usual stoicism, before finally breaking down in the privacy of his office?

He can't imagine that. He can't imagine any thoughts of him after he walks out of his life. Because why would they? He can't imagine anyone truly caring anymore. He was too sad, too lethargic, too cold. His pretty looks also seemed to slip through his fingers like the dry, brittle strands of hair that fell from his hair. Even the vainest, shallowest of reasons to notice someone had abandoned him. He wouldn't even mind it if he was purely ornamental to someone, not anymore.

He growled deep in his throat, bile creeping up, and his chest was far too tight. He didn't know what he wanted - leave and be unremarkable, or struggle on and suffer. He wanted to rest, to stop fighting for once. Leave the battlefield for new planes.

But no. He couldn't. Not until he could say that people would at least call his death a shame - and _mean_ it. A star turning supernova before imploding.

Yeah, right; like that could ever happen.


End file.
